Zigzagged
by Ben Jackson
Summary: Sam and Al leap back to Project Quantum Leap...as each other. And with Ziggy breaking down and their timeline in jeopardy, their futures are at stake. Part 5 of the Two Leapers series.
1. Chapter 1

Sam loved leaping with Al. For so many lonely years he'd been traveling through time with only the image of his best friend to keep him company, but having him there in person was different. He had someone to share his experiences with, someone who really understood what it felt like. Because the thing was, no matter how much support he got, unless you leap you never really _know._ And Al did now. Very few others could say the same. And it was a rare thing, leaping or otherwise, to find someone who synced up so well. Someone who was _there._ He could rest easy knowing that no matter what trouble they were in, Al was right beside him.

Always. Constantly. Sometimes unnecessarily.

Incessantly. Overbearingly. Irritatingly.

Always.

"Okay, that's it!" Al threw open the door to his cabin and immediately began to loosen his tie, "I have HAD IT!"

Sam wasn't far behind. " _You've_ had it?" he said incredulously, "You're not the one who had to deal with Prince What's His Name!"

"Oh c'mon, he likes you!" Al dismissed, yanking off his tie.

"Oh sure, I just love hearing all of his boring stories about his ten brothers and sisters," Sam sighed with wide eyes, "And let's not forget his tales about his various gross health problems; those are classics."

"Yeah?" Al ripped off his jacket and tossed it aside with annoyance. "Well I've had to listen to you complain about it all leap! I've lived the horror of it vicariously through you."

Offended, Sam placed his hand over his blazer. "You've had to listen to _me_ complain? You haven't stopped bitching since we got here!" He groaned and did a spin. "Ohhh, I hate this ship!"

"What're you doing in here anyway?" Al asked with irritation, "This is _my_ cabin! Can't you gimme any space?"

Sam stared at Al for a moment, analyzing his friend, hand placed on his hip. Something had definitely stuck in his craw. "What's with you?" Sam asked, gesturing toward him, "All leap you've been acting like something crawled up your you-know-what and died there."

Al tilted his head. A pause. Finally, he stomped over to Sam and lifted his chin up. "I'm sick of seeing your face, Sam!" he yelled, poking him in the chest, "We've been stuck on this ship for two weeks, the leap before that we were holed up in some hotel room, and I just—I just need a break!"

"For once we agree," Sam shot back, turning away. He exhaled deeply and threw back his head. "I mean, I've been leaping alone for seven years and now I've gotta see you 24/7. It's too much!"

"Right." Al nodded, running his hand through his hair and trying to strategize. He flapped his hand toward Sam. "We've gotta set some ground rules so can stand each other."

"Like what?"

"Like, uh…" Al wiped his nose as he thought. "Like you stop leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor when we have a leap where we're living together."

Sam squinted. "Okay, okay, well if I do that then you have to stop wiping your nose with your hand."

Al still had his fingers under his nose, mid-wipe. "I don't do that."

"You're doing it right now! It's disgusting!"

"You wanna talk about disgusting? You do the one cheek sneak while you're sleeping!"

"Oh that's mature. Hey, why don't you tell me a story about some woman you slept with who had a gas problem?"

"That's it, I—"

The door flew open and the two of them, nearly nose-to-nose, turned to see the messenger as they peeked inside. "Great news! The peace treaty was signed! Come celebrate with us!"

At least there was one dispute ended. The door closed again.

"If I have to hear another story about one of your one night stands, I'm gonna lose it."

"Sorry, Mr. Prudent Prince, I'll stop telling my stories when you—"

The blue light disappeared and Al's finger poked into Sam's chest again. "—remove that stick from your ass!"

"Al."

"I thought you _liked_ my stories," Al complained, sore, "They add a little color to the conversation. What's wrong with that?"

"Al."

"You're just jealous because I have a life. Or at least I did, before—"

"Al, shut up."

"What?" Al snapped, finally listening.

Sam was staring. "Look where we are."

His annoyance turning to confusion, Al pivoted around to take in their surroundings. Once he realized where they were, his eyes bugged out of his head. No. This couldn't be.

Everything was blue. The floor, the walls, the ceiling. That is, except for the pads on the floor and the various bits of machinery. It was unmistakable. This was the Accelerator Chamber.

This was Project Quantum Leap.

The two of them gaped at each other, speechless.

"We're home?" Al gasped.

"We're home," Sam confirmed, a slow smile overtaking his face.

"AHAHAHA, YES!" Al bounced up and down excitedly, grasping Sam by the shoulders, "Sam, we did it! We leaped home!"

"I can't believe it!" Sam said, dumbfounded but overjoyed, "How? How did we do it?"

"I dunno, they must've figured out how to retrieve us! Hot damn, I knew Sammy Jo could do it!" Al yelled again and threw his fist into the air. Sam was still in a daze.

The door slid open and Gooshie stepped inside. It was surreal to see him in the flesh. "A-Am I interrupting something?"

"Gooshie!" Sam exclaimed, throwing out his arms, "We did it!"

Gooshie shrunk back a little. "Did what?"

"We lea—" Sam stopped himself, then shot a look toward Al. From Gooshie's expression, he didn't seem to know what they were talking about, which gave them both a sinking feeling.

Maybe they hadn't been retrieved at all.

Sam didn't want that to be the case, but he had to test this theory. "Gooshie, uh, have you updated Ziggy lately?"

"What're you talking about?" Gooshie asked, confused, "Who's Ziggy?"

Oh no. Sam and Al were slack-jawed again.

"Are you two feeling okay?"

"Yeah," Al said, trying to cover up his shock, "It's just, uh, been a long day."

"I hear ya," Gooshie agreed, appearing to buy it, "I'm gonna need my fourth cup of coffee soon." Chuckling, he pulled out a neon orange clipboard from his coat and handed it to Al. "Here's the checklist you asked for, Dr. Beckett." And he was out.

Al stood frozen for a moment. "Dr. Beckett?"

He and Sam whipped lightning fast toward each other, mirroring each other's expressions of dawning panic. It couldn't be. Sam's eyes wandered to Al's outfit: a plain white button-down and black slacks. Al's eyes wandered to Sam's colorfully patterned shirt and teal pants. On his skinny tie, a small pair of red sunglasses.

"Oh boy!" they exclaimed.

If their eyes got any bigger they'd pop right out of their heads; this was incomprehensible. They began to circle each other, temporarily dumbstruck. Whatever had happened, things had _definitely_ gotten zigzagged.

Slowly, Sam pointed an uncertain finger at himself. "I'm…?"

"You're…?" Al touched his chest. "And _I'm_ …?"

"What the hell is going on?!" Sam exclaimed. He spun around and searched the room for answers.

"I dunno, we…" Al ran his hand through his hair as he tried to unjumble everything. "We must've somehow leaped…into _each other_."

Sam whipped toward him with alarm. "Oh no no no no no—how? Why?"

"Well obviously, uh, to…to fix something, I guess."

"Then why would we leap as each other? Wouldn't it make more sense to leap in as ourselves?"

"How am I supposed to know, Sam?" Al responded with his hands in the air, "I didn't leap us in here, I'm just tellin' you what I think."

"Ohhh…" Sam moaned and turned around again. Spotting a reflective piece of equipment, he picked it up and squinted at Al's reflection in the metal.

Squeezing in next to him, Al studied Sam's muddled reflection as well. This was bizarre. Even in the murky metal, he couldn't wrap his brain around seeing Sam's face in place of his. He supposed it was a good thing that a couple of leaps back the Project had altered their connection slightly so they could see each other without touching, because he wasn't sure he could've handled leaping in and seeing himself. Who was now Sam. And vice versa. Jeez louise! What a way to finally leap home.

It hit him again like a ton of bricks.

Outside that door was home.

Despite the awful circumstances, Al felt a surge of exhilaration. After the exhausting and often dangerous world of leaping, he couldn't wait to see the Project again.

Sam was sharing the same thought, because he was already opening up the door. With a rush of panic, Al bounded forward and yanked him back. "Wait, hang on a minute!" he said with some urgency, waiting for the door to shut again, "Where are you going?"

"Out there. Al, we're home." He looked longingly toward the door. He hadn't seen the Project since his brief revisit when they'd switched places the _first_ time.

"I know, Sam, but we need to figure this out before we do anything. Remember, this is our own timeline. We need to tread very carefully."

"…right," Sam admitted begrudgingly. Great. Not only were they mixed up, but they were messing with their own pasts. They'd taken a dip into their younger days before, but leaping into the Project hit a little too close to home. Exactly how close though? "Question is, _when_ in our timeline?"

"Beats me."

Pacing again, Sam scratched his temple in thought. "If the Accelerator is already built then Ziggy has to be around too. But if she's not called Ziggy yet, then… _he's_ called Alpha. Ziggy was your nickname."

Al snorted. Alpha. What a stupid name.

Sam continued. "So that would place us…" He wiped his nose. "…sometime in 1993. Roughly."

"That's two years before you leaped," Al noted.

"Yeah…" Sam squinted and placed his hands on his hips. It wasn't adding up. "But why would we leap here now? I don't remember anything happening that we would need to fix."

"Yeah, the biggie is at least two years away," Al grumbled. But suddenly, a great, big lightbulb lit up over his head as a wonderful idea occurred to him. "Now hang on a minute. Maybe we _are_ here to get ourselves home."

Sam had to stop him before he got to far ahead of himself. "It'd be impossible to stop myself from leaping this far back, especially considering the me from 1993 is in 2002," said Sam. Yikes, these dates were getting confusing. "But even if we could, I'm not undoing everything I've done to help people." Long ago, he'd considered the possibility of leaping close enough to his first time and stopping himself…and quickly dismissed that solution. He wanted to get home, but not at the expense of the wrongs he'd made right.

"No no, Sam, I'm not talking about stopping you leaping," Al explained, getting excited. He grinned and threw out his hands. "All we have to do is fix the retrieval program so that you don't end up stuck in 1995. Then you can leap in the mornings and—blammo!—be home by dinnertime!"

Sam rubbed his hand over his eyes and shook his head. Al had a noble goal, but not a very realistic one. "The retrieval program's not even created yet, Al."

"Exactly, so we create a new one that works!"

"That would take _months_. Don't you think we would've leaped to when the Project was further along if that were the case? I mean, Ziggy's not even complete yet."

Al closed his eyes and sighed impatiently. Like talking to a brick wall. "I don't know, Sam, but I just have a feeling about this. C'mon. Don't you want to leap home for real?"

Sam breathed deeply and leaned against the wall. He missed home more than anything. Right now he just wanted to run out those doors and see everyone and everything he'd given up, even if just temporarily. "You know I do. But I have a feeling too, and…I just don't think that's what we've leaped here for."

"Don't you think we should at least try?"

Sam met Al's earnest eyes. He really was determined. It would be nice...to finally be able to leap back, to regain the time he lost and put his life back together. He wanted that. But he knew by now to trust his instincts, and GTFW wasn't planning on letting them go just yet. But even if he didn't feel this way, Al was still asking for something he wasn't sure was feasible. "I don't even remember enough _about_ the program to know where to begin."

"I do."

A snort. "No offense, Al, but you didn't know how it worked even before we started leaping."

"Well I do now," Al responded with slight offense.

Sam crinkled his brow in confusion. "Since when?"

A pause. "I dunno."

Before they had time to continue the conversation, the warped sound of the Imaging Chamber startled them and caused them to whip around. But this wasn't the entrance they were used to from the Project. It was awful; the noise was as if it were strangled and dying. And the door didn't look right either. The white rectangle was there, but it was opening slowly, the holographic image fizzling like static.

Al quietly winced at the sudden shooting headache. Damn, not another one! He never got these kinds of migraines before he started leaping. Why was the projection making such an awful sound?

Sam clamped his hands over his ears at the horrendous noise. At last, the door had scraped itself open and allowed Gooshie inside. His image wasn't any better; his body faded in and out of sight.

"…r Beckett, we…ng…nal…"

"Huh?" Sam and Al grunted together.

"Gooshie, we can't hear you," Sam told him. They caught a flash of Gooshie's look of frustration as he said something unheard, jamming his finger skyward. Evidently asking them to turn up the power, because his signal cleared up enough for him to stay visible, if slightly translucent.

Another headache, which Al promptly ignored. Jeez. Knock it off.

"Are we coming in…?" Gooshie's voice was warbled, but still intelligible.

"Yeah, but just barely," Sam answered, squinting to see him, "What's wrong with the signal, Gooshie?"

"W-We don't have much time," the programmer said hurriedly, pressing at the handlink with desperation, "I don't know how long the signal is going to last, so I have to tell you the important things quick. It's September 27, 1993, and, well, if you haven't guessed yet you've leaped into each other. We don't know what you're here for. A-And before you ask, your past selves are being kept separated and away from mirrors. They think something went wrong with an Accelerator test and they're being studied for memory alterations." His image began to crackle out again. "W….re t….st to…sig…"

"Gooshie!" Al yelled with annoyance.

"Sorr…re doing our best," Gooshie apologized, temporarily clear again.

"Gooshie, what's happening?" asked Sam with worry, "Why is the signal so bad?"

Gooshie's arms fell to his sides and his shoulders sagged anxiously. "Well…something i-is wrong with Ziggy."

"What is it?"

He looked away and rubbed his arm nervously. "…she's shutting down."

"What?!" Al exclaimed, an octave higher than normal, "What do you mean, she's shutting down?! How can she shut down?!"

"W-We don't know, that's the problem!" Gooshie buried his head in his hands for a moment. This was much more stressful than usual, and he was always stressed. Not good news for his ulcer. "We're…gnostic but coming up with…" His signal went out again, then flashed back. He sighed. "We think it has something to do with you two being here so close to the first leap and throwing the timeline into flux, but we don't know for sure. All we know is that she's shutting down, a-and if we can't fix her…she could shut down for good."

Sam and Al sat in stunned silence. If Ziggy shut down, not only would they lose contact with the Project, but they'd never be able to leap home.

"What can we do?" Sam asked. It wasn't over until it was over. They couldn't just sit back and let their future slip away.

Gooshie shook his head and responded with something unheard. The signal was getting worse. "…n't be able to make contact…ggy's fixed..."

"What was that?" Sam asked as he struggled to make him out, "You can't make contact with us?"

"..'m sorry, y…n your own!" The image rapidly began to degrade.

"Gooshie, don't you dare fade out on us!" Al yelled with fury, "Gooshie!"

But he was gone. They waited to see if he'd reappear, but he never game. Al cursed under his breath. They needed the Project more than usual on this leap, and Halitosis Hal had left them high and dry.

Maybe forever.

That could've been their last contact.

"Thanks, Gooshie…" Al mumbled under his breath.

"Hey, it's not his fault."

"Who cares whose fault it is, Sam? The Project could've just snapped, crackled, and popped right outta here!"

Sam raised his hands calmingly. "Okay, okay, I know this seems bad, but let's try not to think about that. We don't know what's really happening yet. It could be they're fixing Ziggy even as we speak. So just keep your head on, alright?"

Al rubbed the back of his neck and nodded reluctantly. It drove him crazy not knowing what was really going on there.

"In the meantime, we should be thinking about what we leaped here for."

"We _know_ what we leaped here for," Al said pointedly.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine, yes, it's _possible_ we're here to fix the retrieval program. But before we go changing anything, we should look into our other options. We don't want to go in half-cocked. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Al responded resentfully. It was true they shouldn't change anything that could seriously muck up the timeline, especially considering the state Ziggy was in. Even if he was 99.99% certain he was right. But if he wasn't working on that, he was…well, a Nobel Prize winning quantum physicist with twice his brains and a thick skull to match. Oh boy. "I guess, uh…I guess I gotta be you then, huh?"

"And I guess I've gotta be you."

They stared for a moment. It was really starting to register with them the predicament they were in.

Well. Sam checked Al's colorful watch. "It's 9 PM, what would you be doing right about now?"

"Probably getting ready to go home," Al said as he studied the floor. He huffed. "Back when I actually had time to go off-site. And you still had your own place too." Suddenly he gasped and looked up. "Hey, wait a second. What if I run into Donna?"

Oh, Donna. Sam's heart hurt when he thought of her. It still hadn't sunk in yet that she wasn't part of his life anymore. He wasn't sure he could handle seeing her again, and to see her and not be able to touch her…it'd be more than he could bear.

"You can't tell her anything," Sam answered pressingly, "No one can know that we actually managed to leap, or else we could change how it happened."

"I'm not talking about that, Sam, I mean if I run into her at your place. What if she wants to…y'know…?" Al rolled his hands to suggest his meaning.

Oh. Sam's eyes were wide. "That's a good question. She—" He stopped when he remembered, sighing with relief. "Wait, no, on September 27 she was at a conference in Albuquerque. She won't be back for another week." The pain in his chest lessened a little. It was for the best.

Al exhaled and put a hand on his stomach. "Well _that's_ a relief…"

"So I guess we're both living alone."

"Mm, no, I'd be married around this time," Al corrected him, squinting one eye shut as he tried to remember who to. Sam tensed up. Evidently Al wasn't as worried about the reversal with the Prudent Prince in his house. "Lessee, my fourth…? No, my—" He stopped. His face animated with alarm. "Uh-oh."

"You ASS!" Sam dodged out of the way as another appliance flew in his direction, barely missing his head and smashing into the wall. "I can't BELIEVE you've done this, Al!"

Sam didn't remember much about Al's fifth wife, Maxine, but he'd quickly learned that she had a temper to rival a bull staring down a red flag. And previous to Sam's arrival, Al had messed with the bull and gotten the horns. The tiny blonde woman was hurling objects at him with the fury of a much larger individual, and likely not for the first time. Al had warned him about her mood swings. Gee, he was right though…she did look just like Diane Frost.

An old roller skate whizzed past Sam and he ducked again. He raised his hands to try and protect his face. "Can I at least know what I did?!"

The attack stopped for a moment and Sam peered nervously over his fingers. He didn't like that sickly sweet smile on Maxine's face. "Oh, honey, I'd be happy to help refresh your memory… Does THIS look familiar?" Well prepared for this moment, she whipped out a napkin and shoved it in his direction. In bright red lipstick there was written a number and a name: Charlene. Next to the name, a kiss.

Damn it, Al! Okay, maybe this wasn't what it looked like. Sam tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. "W-Well just because a woman gives out her number doesn't mean I—"

Maxine's arm shot out with a lacy thong clutched in her claw-like hand.

Sam gulped. The evidence was pretty damning.

"Where'd you meet her, Al? In some bar? Out at the mall?!" Maxine picked up an ice skate this time, the blade glinting dangerously in the lamplight. Who had ice skates in the desert?!

"I-I'm sorry!" Sam yelled, once again in the world's worst game of dodgeball, "I don't know what else to say!"

"Say you're a cheating scumbag!" Maxine yelled. She threw a lamp. "And to think you had the NERVE to accuse me of sleeping with our bricklayer! Maybe I just will after this!"

If Sam was going to come out of this without something sharp embedded in his face, he was going to have to think fast. Why couldn't Al just keep it in his pants for once? Now it was Sam's problem. Think. Maybe Al wasn't very faithful, but he was a very smooth talker. He could sell religion to the Pope. Sam could try and harness some of that. What would Al do in this situation?

"You're right…" Sam said, putting on a look of remorse. Maxine stopped mid-throw. "I'm a no good, lying, cheating, scum of the earth. I deserve to be _shot_. Drawn and quartered. Uh…"

"Castrated?"

Sam instinctively moved his hands protectively lower. "Uh, yeah. That too. But I only did it because I thought I'd lost you. I was trying to fill a void that only you could fill. And..." He really got a good look at Maxine's face, the sadness underneath the righteous fury…and felt horrible lying to her. This wasn't fair. He dropped the Al facade and let Sam back in. Sincerely, "It…it's not a good enough excuse, Maxine. It was stupid and careless and…I'm sorry for hurting you."

Maxine unfurrowed her brows. "You mean it?"

"Yeah."

She lowered the phone she was about to throw, then coyly began to twirl the cord around her finger. "You really missed me that much?"

Then Sam noticed just how… _adorable_ she looked when she bit her lip like that.

He looked out from under his eyelids and gave a charming grin. "Oh you bet, baby…I couldn't stand the thought of not having such a _perfect_ woman in my life." His gaze moved slowly across her every curve. She dipped and swerved in all the right places. "Maybe you and I can, uh…kiss and make up."

Sam gasped and went ramrod straight. What was he doing?!

Oh _no_.

Instantly, Maxine's arms were draped around his neck and her body was suctioned to the front of him. He froze and tried not to panic. Gently, he attempted to pull away. This was bad. This was really bad.

"Oh, Al…" she breathed into his ear, "you always know just what to say…"

Deafening alarm bells began to go off. The voice inside Sam was saying to not listen to the Calavicci on his shoulder telling him to give in, but it was a little hard to ignore his growing problem down below. The best thing to do would be to remove himself from this situation as quickly as possible.

Then Maxine's lips were on his.

And to his surprise...he didn't stop her. Mmm, her lip balm tasted like strawberries...wowza!

Take a hike, Mr. Morals. He dipped her lower and leaned passionately into the kiss.

 _Plink._ Al let one finger rest on the key of Sam's piano; the sound hung in the air of the empty house. Exhaling deeply, he released the key and looked up. Sure was quiet around here.

Taking in the rest of his surroundings, slowly a sense of familiar security rolled over him, like a blanket wrapped warmly around his body. The echoes of the life lived here reverberated off the walls, reminded him of how badly he'd missed home. And he'd only been gone for a few months. He couldn't imagine how Sam felt. Even…if they weren't home for good.

He grinned. Maybe they'd change all that though.

Still. He wished he were in _his_ home. Although…maybe not if Maxine was around. Yeesh, massive bullet dodged there. There were things he felt guilty about concerning how things ended—more than a few actually—but not enough for him to risk life and limb in the lion's den.

Sam's home was…cozy, yeah, that was a good word for it. Adobe walls, photos hung sporadically on the wall, decorated in Southwestern style (most definitely put together by Donna), couch draped with woven blankets next to a largely unused fireplace. It wasn't messy but it was definitely a bit out of sorts, the bookshelves seemingly random and askew with various knickknacks. It would appear out of order to the average observer, but Al knew Sam. Seeing as how he had a photographic memory, he had his own system of organizing things. Always he knew just where he'd put something and where he wanted it to be. It drove Al crazy at the Project because no one could decipher how anything was filed in the kid's office, but when he'd tried to organize it in proper alphabetical order, that drove _Sam_ crazy.

Al didn't mind the chaos so much now. In fact he kind of liked it. It felt comforting.

He jumped. He hadn't realized he'd started to play the piano. He didn't even know he _could_ play.

That was weird. Pulling his hands away, he spun around on the bench. A picture of Donna caught his eye. She was smiling, knees pulled up in front of her as she sat on a blanket in the desert. Maybe a picnic? She seemed so happy. He couldn't remember her looking that happy for at least seven years.

Man, she'd gotten a raw deal. Months ago, before Al had leaped, Sam had asked her for a divorce. He couldn't let her keep waiting for him, especially since he'd changed the timeline and gotten them hitched in the first place. All she'd gotten out of this were a set of divorce papers and nearly a decade gone. Not the family she wanted or the husband that set out to prove he was different than the men before.

Oh but Sam loved every ounce of her. Her ambition, her smarts, her sense of loyalty. Her drive to find out what people were made of, why things happen. Her laughter, her gorgeous smile, the way she tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

Al missed her.

Wait— _Sam_ missed her.

Embarrassed, Al quickly whipped himself away from the picture. He'd been away from home far too long; he was seeing everything with rose-tinted glasses.

His stomach rumbled. Boy was he hungry.

Suddenly famished, he made his way to the fridge, opening it up the find it chock full of nada, zip, zero, zilch. That is, except for one box of questionable looking Chinese food stuck in the back. Cautiously, he picked it up and took a whiff. _Pee-yew!_ All his leaps combined had a shorter lifespan than this shrimp fried rice.

Without someone to keep his head on straight, Sam was hopeless. Guess he was going out for dinner.

This late at night eating options were pretty slim, and this 24-hour diner made possibly the worst chicken fried steak Al had ever eaten. But they were open and it was the middle of nowhere, so that gave them a leg up over the nothing else around. He was just paying his bill and getting ready to go when he heard distinctly female giggling.

Curious, he tried to covertly spy on the girls—only to find them getting up and approaching him.

Two young women, early twenties, both a couple of knockouts. And they were staring at him like _he_ was their dinner.

One of them, a brunette in shorts and a tight white shirt, spoke up first. "Hi. Sorry to bother you, but—you're like, famous, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess I am," Al admitted with a big grin. He leaned back in his booth proudly. "Name's Sam. Sam Beckett."

The girls broke down into star struck giggles again. "Oh I knew it!" exclaimed the other one, "We've seen you on TV!"

"My name's Cherry…" White Tee leaned down onto the table, showing off her ample cleavage. "And I think you're _so_ cute…"

Holy smokes. Al hadn't had a woman of this caliber throw herself at him this easy in an exceedingly long time. Not that he thought he was a _goblin_ or anything—he knew he was a handsome gentleman—but he was still an older vintage than these model types usually went for, unless someone was a celebrity or loaded.

Except, he was now in the much younger, muscular form of the not-loaded-but-certainly-a-celebrity, Nobel Prize-winning, genius quantum physicist Sam Beckett. One look at his puppy dog eyes and every woman he ever met fell in love with him.

Al's smile grew as wide as he could make it. He could get some _serious_ tail in this body.

Pulling away from Maxine and gasping for air, Sam was again at war with himself. One part of him—the Sam part—wanted nothing more than to take off and not stop until he hit the next town over. The other part—the part that was Al—wanted to do the bingo bango bongo with Maxine. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Calavicci. What the hell was he doing?! This was wrong! He barely knew Maxine—and she was his best friend's wife!

Oh but her lips were so soft, and her _bazongas_ …

Gah! He had to get out!

Easier said than done; he found himself trapped when Maxine leaped onto him, wrapping her legs around his torso like a twisted pretzel. They fell back against the wall and broke another lamp as she kissed her way down his neck. "Oh Al…you're so sexy when you've done something wrong…"

"I-I'm not sure if I—"

"Let's screw!"

"Okay." He kissed her passionately, desperately, carrying her away from the wall and toppling onto the bed.

The diner parking lot wasn't the classiest of places, so Al drove Cherry out to one of his favorite spots overlooking the desert. Sam's car wasn't as nice as his Ferrari—an old clunker a mom might drive, honestly. But it did the job.

Cherry played with a strand of Al's hair. "I _looove_ your little white streak…" she cooed. Chicks always adored the white streak.

"Thanks," Al said happily, "and I like your…uh, your eyes."

He grinned. Cherry grinned. Then she launched herself at him and began sucking face.

Whoa, this was going way too fast! Strange considering this is what Al brought her here for...but he unexpectedly began to feel something he wasn't sure he'd ever felt: extreme shyness. His cheeks flushed red and he managed to pry her away from his neck.

"Hang on a minute, uh—Cherry," he panted. He began to loosen his collar. Was it hot in here?

"What's the problem?"

"Well it's just, uh…" Gee, what _was_ the problem? "Shouldn't we, um, get to know each other first?"

"Get to know each other?" Cherry laughed; this was hysterical. "Boy's got brains _and_ a sense of humor!"

"I'm serious!" Al said defensively. It wasn't that strange of a thing to ask. "I don't even know your name."

"I told you, it's Cherry."

"I mean your real name."

Now Cherry seemed a little bashful. Casting her eyes away, she shrugged and said, "Well…I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you. It's...Georgia." This was the most real she'd seemed since they met, an oddly vulnerable moment. Not many guys asked her about her real name. And she definitely looked like a Georgia.

Al gave a small smile. "That's a nice name."

"Now tell me _your_ real name, Sam," Georgia joked, shoving him playfully.

The words filled Al with a deep sense of shame. This wasn't right. He was lying and using both her and his best friend. He shouldn't be here.

"Hey. Is everything alright?"

Al met her eyes guiltily. "I…I think I've made a mistake."

The Calavicci house had taken more damage when Sam and Maxine were getting along than when they were fighting. If they had any neighbors, they'd be complaining about the noise.

"Oh Al! This is the _best_ you've ever been!"

"I know!"

"I wish there were more nice guys like Sam Beckett around," Georgia sighed. With a kiss on Al's cheek, she waved and went inside her house.

Al shut the car door. This wasn't exactly how he'd planned out his night, but his conscience was clean. He had no business taking advantage of young women like that. What if, god forbid, he'd actually made love to her?

He hoped Georgia found what she was looking for. Maybe she'd go back to her hometown and finish that degree she was talking about. Back to the country, just turning orange for the fall, the crackling leaves intertwining with the corn. The cows mooing calmingly and not a care in sight. Katie swinging lazily on the porch swing, braiding a friendship bracelet. The most perfect place in the world.

Al tensed up in horror. What was happening?

He was turning down sex? 'Made love'? The farm? He _hated_ farms. And Katie, why the hell was he thinking about Katie? He wasn't acting like himself at all, in fact he was sounding a lot like—

God, no.

 _Sam._ Leaping into him must've caused them to magnafoozle! How could he do this to him?!

The gas might never have been punched faster in this clunker.


	2. Chapter 2

Al knocked at least ten times in succession, full of furious impatience. C'mon, Sam, open up! He was gonna get the talking to of his life for filling Al with such virtuous thoughts!

"Okay, okay, hold your horses…" came muffled from inside.

He was just about to pound the door again when it swung open and he nearly planted his fist into Sam's chest.

Sam's _bare_ chest.

Al's jaw dropped. There stood his best friend wearing nothing but a pair of polka dot shorts and an open robe, a cigar held in place by a very uncharacteristic smirk. His hair, ruffled in that unmistakable manner that indicated he'd been having a _very_ busy night.

Like a deer in headlights, Sam dropped the grin and started choking on cigar smoke. "Al?!" he managed to cough out.

"Sam?! What the hell is going on here?!"

"I—Uh—"

"Come back to bed, Italian Stallion!" Maxine called from the bedroom.

Temporarily too dumbfounded to compute, Al stood there gaping like a fish, his cheeks slowly turning scarlet as Sam tried to fumble out some sort of coherent sentence. There was absolutely no way he was seeing what he thought he saw! Finally, he blurted out, "Sam, you slept with Maxine?!"

"I didn't mean it to, I—I couldn't help myself!" Sam gasped with panic, suddenly extremely shame-faced. Glancing back toward the bedroom, he leaned in closer to try and keep the volume down. "It just happened!"

"I'm ready for round four, baby…"

Al's eyeballs attempted to jump out of his skull. "It just happened _three times_?!"

"I'm so sorry, Al!" Sam apologized, spreading out his hands pleadingly, "I tried to stop myself, but I just—felt you take over, and…." He groaned and closed his eyes. "Ohhhh but it was so good…"

Al's fists balled up at his side. "That's my wife!"

" _Ex_ -wife," Sam pointed out, trying to absolve himself of some of the fault. Wait a minute. As he recalled the fight that had led to this to begin with, he suddenly became indignant. He had no room to judge. "And you were cheating on her anyway!"

Al gasped. The absolute _nerve._ "That is a baseless accusation, Sam!" he spat out, bouncing upward, "I would never, EVER sleep with someone else while I was married!"

"Then who's Charlene?"

"…except I did have sex with Charlene, yes." He looked away, scratching at his neck. Sam lowered his chin and eyed him scoldingly, but Al wasn't gonna let him get the upper hand. "Look, I was—I was in the middle of a fight with Maxine, and I might've fallen off the wagon again and gotten a little tipsy, and—look, _I'm_ not the guilty party right now!"

Now noticing the lipstick on Al's collar, Sam became suspicious of that claim. "And where exactly were _you_ tonight?"

Al paused. "Uh, what makes you say I was anywhere?"

Irritated, Sam reached out and pulled at his collar. "Where'd this lipstick come from?"

"Lipstick?" Al chuckled, trying to hide the evidence with his hand, "That's not lipstick, that's, uh…pffffuhhhh…" He couldn't even finish coming up with an excuse. He looked down shamefully. "Okay, I picked someone up and parked with her."

"Al!" Sam shouted, angrily pulling his robe closed, "You were going to sleep with a stranger while in my body?!"

"But I didn't!" Al pointed out with frustration, "Unlike _someone_ I know. I was too jumbled up with Mr. Goody Two Shoes to take it any further than first base."

"What if Donna found out?"

This coming from the man who just slept with his wife. "You're one to talk, you big fat hypocrite!" Al smacked Sam's shoulder, hard.

Temper flaring, Sam closed in heatedly. He didn't care; he could take on himself. "Okay, you wanna go a few rounds?"

"Home-wrecker!"

"Nozzle!"

Sam shoved Al. Al shoved Sam.

The ludicrousness of the situation was finally dawning on Al. Sam was him and he was Sam. They were mad at each other because of something they essentially made _themselves_ do. Fighting like this was pointless; it was only keeping them from doing what they were dropped in here to accomplish. He raised his hands in surrender. "Look, this is—this is childish. We're both acting like idiots. We should be working on our leap objective and not…y'know…"

"Engaging in gland to gland combat? Shaking the sheets? Doing the bedroom rodeo?"

Both of them reacted as if they'd been slapped.

"Get out of my head!" Sam demanded.

"You get outta mine!"

Sam rubbed his hands over his face and turned around. "Ohhh I hate this, Al, I hate this…"

"Alright, Sam, let's just…" Al sighed, pulling his hand down his chin, "Let's just agree that until this leap is over, we stop messing with each other's lives. I won't be picking up strangers and you'll leave Maxine alone."

"What I did isn't the same thing, Al," said Sam with a glower, "You could've ruined my marriage."

"Maybe." Al narrowed his eyes. "But you already did that yourself, didn't you?"

Sam went quiet. He cast his eyes toward the floor.

The words had barely left Al's lips before he regretted them. He'd just wanted so badly to get back at him, he'd spoken before thinking. That was a low thing to say.

"Aw jeez, Sam, I'm—I'm sorry."

Scratching his temple, Sam shrugged. "It's late, so…we should get some sleep. We've gotta work early tomorrow."

"I mean it, I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't worry about it." Sam waved him off and gave a tight grin. "You're right. We should be focused on the leap. So let's figure out whatever the Big Guy has planned and get the hell out of here."

"…you mean it? You're not mad?"

"I'm not mad."

"Just like that?"

"It's forgotten."

0800 hours and Sam had definitely forgotten what time the staff meeting started. They'd convened an hour ago and the Project Co-Director was nowhere in sight, which didn't exactly put Al in the best light. He tried to brush it off. Maybe he'd slept in; he would have to call him when they wrapped up. He hoped everything was okay. Maxine did have a way of loving him one minute and then wanting to kill him the next.

Leading the meeting came easily to him; after all, it was his job after Sam leaped. But even before then, they'd shared this duty fairly often. Most of it involved going over their pre-made task sheets, although usually Sam had some extra things to add. Except today, of course, because, well, he wasn't here.

"I think that about covers everything for today. Anything unclear?"

"Yeah, when is the coffee machine in Section B gonna get fixed?" one of the Naval personnel joked. Good-natured chuckles echoed through the room.

"Trust me, maintenance is working on it," Al answered politely, "In the meantime, you'll have to get your crummy coffee from Section D." More laughter. Al heard giggled whispers to the left and inconspicuously cast his gaze that way as he busied himself with shuffling papers. Tina was leaning in toward Gooshie and telling him something they both found amusing. He noted the way she softly touched his arm.

He looked away. Well. It's not like he had any claim on her as Sam…or himself back then, actually. Or…himself _now_ , probably. God, he hadn't even said goodbye, had he?

If Ziggy wasn't fixed, he'd never see her again.

It was at that moment that the door slid open, in strode the missing Co-Director, and Al nearly choked on his spit. When the rest of the staff saw him, the room was overcome with shocked silence.

There was no word to describe him other than "spectacle." Stogie in the middle of a smug grin, he sauntered inside wearing sunglasses, a green fedora, and the same robe as he'd had on last night, but with the decency of putting on pajama pants underneath this time. His baggy gray shirt proudly had the words SEX MACHINE emblazoned on the front.

" _Sorry_ I'm late," Sam said with an exaggerated gravel to his voice, an almost cartoonish impression of Al. He plopped down in a chair and propped his feet on the table. "I lost track of time playing hide the cannoli, if you know what I mean." He nudged the officer next to him. "Eh? Eh? Gooshie knows what I'm talking about." He pointed at Gooshie, who turned beet red and pulled away from Tina.

Al was so aghast he could hardly speak. What the hell was Sam playing at? "What do you think you're doing, _Admiral_?" Al gritted through his teeth.

"What?" Sam whipped off his sunglasses and threw his hands up. "I showed up, didn't I? You had it handled, buddy! Good old reliable! That's our Sam. Not everyone can be funny like me." He pointed at his shirt and wagged his eyebrows. The room continued to stare.

So that's how it was gonna be, huh? Evidently Sam wasn't as forgiving as he'd seemed last night. Well two people could play at that game! Al put on his best mortified look, hand to chest as if he were an old woman clutching her pearls. "Oh boy, oh golly gee willikers, Al, I just can't believe how _inappropriate_ that shirt is! Why can't you be more boring like I am?" He clapped his hand to his head and sighed dramatically. "Well that tears it, my whole schedule has been thrown off now. You know there's only 48 hours in a day!"

How the tables had turned. With satisfaction, he could see the impression had gotten to Sam, whose single narrowed eye indicated his irritation.

Sam gave a loud yawn while stretching out his arms excessively. "Well maybe you can hurry things up, Sam, because I've gotta get to the horse track in a bit. I've still got two bucks I haven't spent on booze." Then he lifted his finger and jammed it into his nose, really digging for the gold.

Al pursed his lips. This was _war_. He put his hands on his hips, stuck out his ass, and huffed. "Oh me oh my, my virgin ears! This debauchery is twisting that stick further up my butt! No one can have any fun because I never do! I'm too busy never _practicing_ what I _preach_!"

Now the staff was staring at both of them with extreme confusion. This bizarre display was like watching a car wreck: both fascinating and horrible.

Sam shot out of his seat and slammed his hands on the table. Al leaned forward and stared him down.

Someone spoke up in the back. "Is this meeting still going, or…?"

"You're dismissed," both of them responded, never breaking eye contact. Slowly came the sound of chairs rolling back and the staff awkwardly shuffling out. When the door finally shut, Sam made his way around to Al's side.

"'Golly gee willikers'?" Sam repeated incredulously, "In the 18 years that you've known me, have you ever heard me say 'golly gee willikers'?"

"Oh and what about your impression of me, huh? Do you seriously think I come off like some sort of disgusting slob?" Al twisted his finger by his nose. "What was this all about?"

"Creative license."

"You can't take creative license with my life, Sam! What were you thinking coming to work wearing that?" He flapped his arm at Sam's shirt, and Sam shrugged defensively.

"Why do you even have it?"

"It was a GIFT! And not meant for use in public!"

Sam snickered and shoved his hands into his robe's pockets. "You have to admit it was pretty funny." No, Al didn't find this funny at all. He glared scornfully. "Oh c'mon, what's the worst that could happen? It's not like you're going to get fired."

"Can't you take anything seriously right now, Sam?" Al asked like he was announcing the end of the world. For all he knew, for them it very well could be. "We still don't know why we leaped in here, Ziggy could be broken down in the future, and you're just making jokes!"

Sam seemed to sober up a little, but he did roll his eyes at Al's dramatic tone. He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. "Of course I'm taking this seriously. _You_ were the one who had to go and make things personal."

"I said I was sorry, Sam," Al told him with annoyance, "Don't forget, _you_ still slept with my _wife._ "

The two of them were at a standstill. They glared and then avoided eye contact altogether.

Sam thought. He scratched his temple and squinted. "You know, it's not just what happened last night? It's everything lately." He sighed and threw out his hands. "I think we're driving each other crazy, Al. We haven't been able to escape each other since you leaped back into my life and now we're trapped in each other's bodies. Uh, figuratively speaking."

Al had given this scenario quite a bit of thought, actually. "Well…maybe there's a reason for that," he said casually, rubbing the back of his neck and pretending to play it cool.

Sam was eyeing him suspiciously. "Like what?"

"Like…fixing the retrieval program, for instance."

"Oh, _come off it_ , Al…" Sam said with a groan, turning away.

"Wait, Sam, hear me out." Al circled to face him, holding up his palms. "Maybe we leaped into each other because _both_ of us need to fix this. Separately we couldn't figure it out, but if we combine our strengths, maybe there's something there!" He grinned at his brilliant deduction. "Think about it , Sam. I've got _your_ brains and _my_ smarts. You ever heard the expression two heads are better than one?"

"You ever heard the expression about beating your head into a wall?" Sam shot back. Jeez, was he always this stubborn? "We have to face reality, and the reality is if we were meant to fix it, we would've been leaped in after it was programmed. It could take _months_ to put into place and I don't think we're going to be here that long." He shifted his feet and continued. "The fact we leaped into September 1993 has to mean something, Al, and I don't think it has to do with the retrieval program. We could seriously alter the timeline just by toying with it. What if I leaped earlier and got stuck for even longer?"

"And what if you had more time to perfect it and didn't get stuck at all?"

"I don't think it's our objective."

"Well who cares if it is or isn't?"

Sam gave an astonished frown. He couldn't be serious. "What do you mean, who cares? What if someone's in trouble?"

Al closed his eyes in embarrassment. "Look—poor wording, I'm sorry." He shook his head, raised his hands, and tried again. "I'm not saying to ignore the leap objective if that's not what we came here for. What I'm saying is…can't we have both?" Pleadingly—but with that twinkle of zealous ambition Sam so often exuded—Al stepped up closer to make his case. "What if I could fix everything right now, Sam?" He pointed his hands inward at his chest and squinted. "I know, in my heart, that we can get ourselves home and still save everyone. Just let me try, okay?"

Sam studied him for a moment, his earnestness. It felt a bit naïve to be honest. But Al's faith made him want to believe. If he really thought it could happen, maybe he was right. Finally, he relented and sighed. "Fine, maybe there's something there. But don't lose focus of everything else. Okay?"

Al gave a wide, triumphant smile. "Okay."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "I don't know who's getting to me more right now, the part of you that's Al or the part of you that's me."

"Believe me, it's freaking me out too. Hey, wanna hear somethin' weird?" Al asked, tilting in secretively, "Last night I was able to play Chopin's Minute Waltz on your piano."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "Really? That's incredible."

Al nodded enthusiastically. It felt like having a superpower or something. "You get anything cool like that from me?"

"Uhhh…well, I managed to jump start a car this morning," Sam offered, upbeat. Al's shoulders sagged at the less impressive residual. He had his own quirks too, didn't he?

A terrifying thought. "Wait, you weren't messin' with my Ferrari, were you?"

The door opened again and Gooshie peeked cautiously inside. "I-Is it safe to come in?"

Al's brief return to good spirits disappeared like a deflating balloon whizzing across the room. He lowered his eyelids. "Oh great, it's Onion Breath…"

Sam shot him a death glare. Then, to Gooshie, "Yeah, you're good."

"Thanks, we won't be long." Gooshie reentered with his neon orange clipboard, followed by an attractive blonde Naval officer. Sam was immediately drawn to her curves, cocking his head and checking her out. Ooh, he loved a woman in uniform…

Mortified, Al noticed this and stepped between them to block Sam's view. Sam, in turn, continued to duck around him to try and get another view as she grabbed a copy of the checklist and left. "What is it, Gooshie?"

"Oh, just forgot my lucky pen," Gooshie chuckled, picking up a neon orange pen and waving it in the air. This, in turn, made his face even more punchable to Al. "Couldn't do anything without this."

"That's it? That's what you bothered us for?" Al asked, eyes narrowed.

Gooshie shrank back. "Sorry, Dr. Beckett. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Great." Al rolled his eyes and threw his hands out disbelievingly. "All this work to do and he's thinking about pens. No wonder we're in this situation."

"What situation?"

"Never mind," Al muttered as if he were very unintelligent.

"O…okay then," the programmer said with befuddlement, slowly backing out, "I guess I'll see you in the Control Room." Al waved him off dismissively. The door slid closed.

"We wouldn't be in this mess if the little pipsqueak knew how to fix a simple transmission…"

Sam had heard enough. While they were airing everything out, he might as well get to the bottom of this one. "Why are you always so hard on him, Al?"

"What? I'm not hard on him."

"Yes, you are. Gooshie's always done the best he can and it seems like you're always mad at him for no reason."

"Hey, he's not completely innocent, you know," Al said pointedly. Sam gave him another look and waited. A pause. Al blew out a breath. "Well…"

" _Oh, Admiral!" Debra giggled as Al led her sneakily to the storage closet, "I feel so naughty!"_

" _We're gonna get_ real _naughty in a minute…" said Al with a smirk. This was his favorite spot to do the do. He took Tina there sometimes. That was their special place. Speaking of which, she was probably picking out what to wear when they met up later. He said he was gonna be late. He bet she was picking out her fancy underwear.._

 _But for now, he wanted to know what was under_ Debra's _clothes._

 _He reached for the light switch. "Okay, baby, are you ready to take a ride on Calavicci's wild—"_

 _Gasps. Two figures already inside scrambled for their clothes._

" _Al!"_

" _Admiral!"_

" _Tina?! GOOSHIE?!" Al's eyes popped out with shocked betrayal._

" _Admiral, I—I—I—"_

 _Al let Debra's hand fall from his grasp. This was their SPECIAL PLACE_. _"You son of a bitch!"_

Sam scrunched up his face and leaned back. "You're mad at Gooshie for sleeping with Tina when you were cheating on her?"

"It's the principle of the thing, Sam!" Al argued, "He was supposed to be my friend, and that…that _nerd_ took advantage of my girlfriend!"

Sam knit his brows, his bullshit detector on full alert. "Uh-huh. And you're sure this doesn't have to do with the fact that a 'nerd' like Gooshie was able to steal your girl?"

A moment of embarrassed silence. "Well, I, uh…I mean…"

Sam laughed and Al scowled. "Eventually you're gonna have to get over it, Al. You weren't there for her and Gooshie was."

"But what does she see in a stinky geek like him, Sam?" Al burst out, not bothering to hide it anymore, "I mean, she's a ten and he's…he's in the negatives!"

"Broads dig smart guys," Sam said knowingly. He looked toward the ceiling, suddenly reminiscent. "There was a girl I dated in college like that. My second—No, third girlfriend. Her name was Jill Rybeck. I met her in the library and _boy_ was she stacked!" He pantomimed a pair of breasts on his chest.

"Sam!" Al chided him, appalled.

Sam was shocked at himself again. "God, Al, is sex all that's ever on your mind?"

Al face-palmed, taking in a deep breath. Then he looked up at Sam with his lips pursed. "Get dressed in some real clothes and get to work, Sam." And he headed toward Sam's office.

"Spoilsport. Hey, you got any extra clothes here?"

Al stopped and lowered his chin. "It's me, Sam. What do you think?"

On the way to Al's on-site quarters, Sam at last had a moment to really take in the Project. He hadn't been back here since…since 1999, when he and Al had switched places. How long ago that was, he didn't know now. It was sadly normal that he didn't remember.

Seeing Project Quantum Leap again was bittersweet. He remembered fondly the early mornings walking these hallways alone, the smell of coffee permeating the air. The hum of the machinery, the promise of the future. How excited he would be to start the next step that would lead him to the past. Everything he'd ever wanted laid out before him, and the people he cared for by his side. He had no idea what he was really signing up for, the heart-stopping action, the sorrow, the anger. But there was also the laughter, the exhilaration, the satisfaction he got every time he saw someone's life had been made better and felt that tingling sensation that told him he was going to do it all over again. It hadn't been all bad.

He knew he could never undo all of that. But if he'd had the opportunity, would he do it all over again? Maybe by preserving his timeline, he was. And…surprisingly, he was okay with that.

He gently stroked his fingers across the wall.

He really did love this place. One day, he'd see it again, for good. He had to believe that.

Ah, _there_ was Al's quarters.

Sam straightened Al's golden tie and tried to focus his eyes on the paperwork in front of him. Stacks, and stacks, and stacks…of boring paperwork. Back before leaping, he'd left as much of it as possible for Al to deal with; he preferred to spend his time really digging into the work at hand, his real passion, feeling the gears slowly moving forward. He'd rather saw off his own hands than deal with all of this legal red tape, so tedious and…unstimulating. He could've swore the one currently in hand was a repeat.

This chair was murder on his back. Did Al really sit in this thing all day? Come to think of it, he'd requested a new one several times and Sam had ignored it. He was kicking himself for that now. Groaning, he got up to pace the office and take a break.

Why were they here? None of the papers or phone calls seemed to clue Sam in. It was all fairly standard, uninteresting stuff—permits, budgets, a little bit of butt-kissing. But nothing that seemed like a wrong that needed to be put right. Did something happen with him or Al? He figured he'd remember it if it was anything significant...

This was around the time Al and Maxine got divorced, wasn't it? Yeah, now that he was thinking about it…this was their last few months. But Al had been the one who divorced Maxine, right? He thought she was cheating on him, but it turned out she was innocent. Maybe he was supposed to prove her innocence. But how would he do that if the real Al was in the future? And…well…of all of Al's marriages, was the one Sam leaped through time to save really going to be Maxine? Even by Al's standards, it was rocky.

Besides, he'd promised not to mess with Al's life. If he was wrong, it would be significantly altered. Oh man, he wished Gooshie were here to tell them what to do. The stakes were even higher now that the Project was involved. Why would GTFW leap them in here without at least dropping them a clue?

Ugh, he needed a _real_ break. Maybe if he took a walk around he could get a good eyeful of Brenda in coding. Boy, she could break _his_ code any day…

Gah! This was a nightmare. Sam spun around the room in search of a distraction. Don't think about sex, don't think about sex, don't think about sex...

His eyes fell on a pair of smooth legs, his gaze slowly moving up over the tight pink dress to the ample hoo-has and the curly red hair. Tina flashed a dazzling, squinted smile. "Hiya, Al."

"Hellooooo, nurse!" Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "I mean—Hi, Tina—I mean, Miss Martinez-O'Farrell."

She giggled. "Oh, are we, like, going formal now, _Admiral_ Calavicci?"

"It's just, uh—" Sam cleared his throat and leaned again the desk, trying to get his bearings. "It's just more professional. How can I do you—WHAT can I do for you?" He turned away and bit his fist, horrified.

Tina shrugged. "I'm just lookin' for something to do." She sighed and sat uncomfortably close to him on top of the desk, crossing her magnificent legs. Sam swallowed and avoided staring. "Dr. B is busy working on Alpha with Gooshie, and until they get him running again I'm not needed." Looking upward, she narrowed her eyes. "You know what I think? I think Alpha should be a girl. He seems like a girl, doesn't he? He's smart like a girl."

Sam's cough turned into a laugh. "Well…you could be right about that." Keenly aware of their close proximity, he got up and pretended to straighten the bookshelf. "Unfortunately I don't have anything for you to do here. Did you ask Sam how long it would be?"

"Oh, he was too busy," Tina sighed and waved, "You know how Dr. B gets when he's working. You can never, like, get a word outta him. And lately it seems like he's _always_ working."

Sam paused. He cautiously peered over his shoulder, pretending to have a casual interest in the conversation. "Well he's got a lot on his plate right now."

Tina bent in closer, lowering her voice for no one. "Well if you ask me, it's been too long since he's given Donna some sugar. She's always talkin' to me about, like…how distant he is."

Sam felt a pang in his heart hearing her name, being reminded of what contributed to the end of his marriage. It was a seed that was planted when he started this Project and the roots grew and grew until they took him over.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," Tina continued, eyebrows raised, "He's a sweetheart. But he's like a, um…a golden retriever. Loyal and loving…but dumb as a brick sometimes." She raised her shoulders and lowered them with a deep sigh. She hated to see such a perfect match go to waste. "He's living in the past."

Sam stared deeply at the books, not turning around. Why could everyone else see it but him?

Taking a moment to gather himself, he twisted around again. Raising an eyebrow, "A golden retriever, huh?"

"I meant it as a compliment!" Tina covered, flashing another smile, "I mean, everyone loves dogs." Either she and Al always gossiped, or she was supremely confident to be talking this candidly to the Co-Director about his partner. Knowing Tina, it was probably a little of both.

Sam hugged the random book he'd grabbed, hesitating for a moment. "Can I ask you something?"

Tina blinked. "Of course."

"How long would you wait for someone?"

"Huh?"

"If something happened to someone you loved. How long would you wait?"

Hands clasped over her knee, Tina's face was animated with confusion. Neon pink nails tapped pensively. "I dunno, I never, like, thought about that before. I guess it would depend on who it was. Like if my Gran went into a coma or somethin', I couldn't ever give up on her."

"What about if you were married?"

"Well that's easy," Tina snorted, "I ain't ever gettin' married!"

Sam raised his eyebrows and sat down on Al's ratty old couch. That explained some things. "Okay, just a boyfriend then."

"Al, what's this all about? Somethin' goin' on between you and Maxine again?"

"No, nothing like that," Sam said quickly, although that wasn't necessarily true, "Maxine and I are fine. It's just a…personal thing that's on my mind. I guess what I'm really getting at is…how long would you want someone to wait for you?"

Tina's dimpled grin lit up her face again and she leaned forward. With a hint of another meaning to her voice, she said, "Well I'd think that was their choice, wouldn't you?"

Sam's head shot up with surprise, and he realized she knew more about waiting than he'd thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Stuffing a cafeteria sandwich into his mouth, Al pored over the notes he'd been taking and added a few more scribbles. It wasn't much of a start—lots of lines and contradictions, and very frustrating. But it was something, and Al was finding himself constantly itching for things for his hands to do. Sat Indian style on the floor, he had spread out around him blueprints and various loose computer parts. When the retrieval problem stumped him, he'd jump over to Ziggy's build to take a break. It was messy and unorganized, but he found everything was the place he wanted it. Hell, he didn't even need to look at half these blueprints—he was amazed to find that, like Sam, he had a photographic memory. It was weird. Like having a computer in his head. One he couldn't turn off.

Speaking of computers, the old bucket of bolts was a fairly new bucket of bolts at this time. Enough of her was built to function, but there were still quite a few pieces to add to turn her into the Ziggy he knew today. Yesterday. Whatever. For the life of him he couldn't get used to hearing the male voice again. And Alpha's ego was just as big as Ziggy's.

" _But I don't_ need _updating,"_ he'd complained, " _I already process information faster than you humans could ever dream to with your low-functioning brains."_

 _Low-functioning brains._ Al would take out his voice chip if he kept it up.

Perhaps he wouldn't be as miffed if he wasn't paired up with a certain walking disaster today. Gooshie was half inside one of Alpha's panels right now, buried in circuits and wires. Every time he moved he made annoying noises. Right now he was whining as he wriggled his way out of a difficult position.

One thing Al couldn't get out from under his skin was Sam's accusation that he was somehow _jealous_ of Gooshie. Jealous? Him? Of _this_ guy? No, he was just a slimy weasel who liked to steal things that weren't his. Nothing to be jealous about. Tina never would've slept with him if Gooshie hadn't…whatever. There wasn't anything else to this. And who was Sam anyway, the Relationship Detective?

"Dr. Beckett?"

"Shut up, Gooshie."

"What?"

"Uh—nothing, sorry." It had been a reflexive response. Al tore his eyes away from his work to peer at the programmer. "I was distracted. What is it?"

"I was going to ask for a hex driver, but never mind…"

"Well good." Al bent over his notes again. Vexingly, he was interrupted approximately one second after.

"Not that it's any of my business, but why are you so focused on the retrieval program right now?" Gooshie asked with interest, picking up the driver from the tool kit, "I mean, you're jumping ahead a little bit, aren't you? We need to finish building Alpha first."

"We have more than one of us working on this; why can't we do both?" Al explained, "There's nothing wrong with being prepared."

"I suppose you're right…" Gooshie said, scratching his ear. He left it at that. One good thing about Gooshie was that he wasn't one to get very nosy. "Oh, did you ask Admiral Calavicci about that appointment?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" questioned Al. Did he have to do everything around here?

Gooshie ducked out of the panel again, puzzled. "I did. I told you, Dr. Beckett, remember? But...every time I talk to him he's in a bad mood. You said you would talk to him."

"Oh," Al nodded, pretending to remember, "Ohhh yeah, that's right. I forgot." He bit his lower lip and twisted his palms together. He screwed up his mouth. "He's in a bad mood, over what?"

Gooshie froze, uncomfortably on the spot. "W-Well, probably his fights with his wife. Not th-that it's any of my business."

It struck Al abruptly that his mood had affected everyone else that badly. He frowned again. "And you couldn't even arrange a meeting with him?"

"Did I forget to ask you?"

"No," Al answered quickly, "At least—I don't think so..." He was absorbed in his thoughts now, feeling ashamed. Being with Maxine was an explosive mixture. He'd get jealous of the men she flirted with, she'd get jealous of the girls. She threw things across the room, he'd find the bottle he'd hidden for special occasions. He was convinced she was cheating on him, and every time they had a fight it would put him in such a foul mood he'd lock himself up in his office. But he didn't know he'd become so toxic to everyone else that they felt scared to make an _appointment_ with him.

Oh boy, Maxine. She was right to be angry with how he treated her; it wasn't like he was a Boy Scout either. And as the final punch to the gut, she'd never cheated in the first place! It turned out the only person spreading the hurt was him.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't treat Tina the same way. As usual, Sam was right. Gooshie had been there for her when he'd failed.

Al rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll, uh, I'll ask him again today. Remind me what this appointment is for?"

"We're running another test on the chip."

"Right…what chip?"

"Well…y'know." Gooshie tapped his temple.

If they had doors that could fly open, the door to Al's office would be off its hinges. Al came barging in so quickly that Sam, his feet propped up, nearly fell out of his chair. "A chip in my BRAIN? You put a chip in my BRAIN, Sam?"

"Heh?" Sam was scrambling to regain his balance. He furrowed his brows. "A chip in your—Ohhhh, _that_ thing." As if it were an obvious thing to space, he nodded and fixed the pile of papers that he'd set askew.

Al was staring with disbelieving eyes at Sam's easygoing response. "Yes, THAT thing! That thing you jammed into my BRAIN!" He twisted his finger into his temple to demonstrate.

"Would you relax, Al?" Sam asked, raising his palms, "It's not dangerous. We needed the chip to connect you with Ziggy; otherwise we wouldn't have been able to keep contact."

"I notice you didn't put a chip in _your_ brain!"

"I didn't need one. I wasn't the Observer," Sam explained plainly. But Al was being hysterical over nothing, so he tried to reassure him. "Hey, I still used some of my brain matter, same as you."

That was the wrong thing to say; Al looked even more alarmed. "BRAIN MATTER?" he yelped with horror, "Who said anything about brain matter?! Now you're scooping my brains out?!"

Yikes. Time to deescalate the situation. Sam circled the desk and fixed Al with a look that said he was being rather silly. "Okay, calm down, Mr. Fussypants," he said slightly patronizingly. Al glared. "Ziggy's a parallel hybrid computer; the reason she has human characteristics is because she's got a little bit of us mixed in. It's what separates her from just a number cruncher. Understand?" He waited. Al reluctantly calmed down, just minutely. "She's helped us save a lot of people. I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't for the greater good."

Al chewed on the side of his mouth, mulling it over. What kind of weird science was going on at this Project?! He might've preferred to keep this information swiss cheesed. He didn't like the idea of Sam poking around his brain like that, but evidently he'd consented to it. And maybe Sam was digging in his brain just a little bit right now, because it was all starting to make sense to him. Assuming the Project ever got Ziggy fixed, they still wouldn't be able to sync up Gooshie's brainwaves as well as Al's. Just sending a signal on a good day was a strain on the system, which is why he wasn't able to stick around for long. Which is to say that the chip was very handy when Al was the Observer. Now, it was just a useless piece of silicon debris in his head.

"Okay, Sam," he sighed, rubbing his eyes, "Maybe I was over—" He stopped, really taking in Sam's appearance for the first time, and was once again distracted. If he could focus on one thing at a time that would be great. "What is that?"

"What's what?"

"That outfit. What're you wearing?" He motioned toward Sam's clothes: green fedora from earlier, reflective gold tie, patterned pink shirt, and pastel yellow pants.

Sam looked down at his outfit and shrugged. "What about it?"

"It's all wrong, Sam!" Al complained, placing his hands on his hips, "I would never wear put that shirt with those pants. You look ridiculous."

"How was I supposed to know, Al?" Sam asked with exasperation, "Your entire closet looks like a clown threw up inside it." Al gasped, appalled at the insult, but Sam cut off any further argument with a groan. He pressed his fingertips to his forehead. "Al, I'm so sick of hearing your bitching. Why are we constantly fighting now? Didn't we used to be friends?"

"I'm not the one fighting, _you're_ the one fighting." And Al added with a point, "You're trying to make me look bad!"

"Oh come on, I didn't do it on purp…" Sam trailed off when the door opened again and Tina came back.

Her face lit up with delight when she saw Al. "Oh hi there, Dr. B. They told me I could find you here, but I didn't believe 'em. It's so rare to see you outta the Control Room!"

"Hi, Tina," Al said quietly. Gee, she looked nice… Oh no, he was staring. His cheeks turned red and he spun around to hide it. He hoped she didn't notice!

"What's with him?"

"Nothing," Sam answered, trying to steer her attention away from him, "What is it?"

Tina was watching Al curiously, who remained sheepishly facing the wall, temporarily spacing her reason for coming. Then she remembered, gasping. "Oh! I just wanted to let Dr. B know his tux came in."

"Tux?" Sam repeated, frowning, "What do I—I mean, what does he need a tux for?"

Tina shrugged, giggling as if he'd made a joke. "Probably for, like, that Enomoto demonstration tomorrow, ya goofball."

This got both of their attention. Sam gaped. "The what now?"

"The Eno—"

"That's tomorrow night?" Sam gasped, eyes wide. He and Al exchanged a look.

"It's been on the schedule for months," Tina responded, confused, "You two've been talking about it for the last week."

"Right, yeah, I just—tomorrow?!"

"Oh boy…" Al breathed.

"Are you feelin' okay, Al?"

"Yeah, I'm just—" Al stopped, remembering he wasn't Al right now. "I mean, we're fine. I mean—he's fine. Al is." He froze in panic.

Sam forced a friendly grin onto his face, placing his hands on Tina's shoulders and leading her toward the door. "Would you excuse us? Thanks."

"Sure, just—"

The door slid closed and Sam pivoted around in a blur. "This is bad, Al. This is really bad."

"You're tellin' me!"

"We're not in any shape to be wooing investors."

"No kidding," Al agreed, rubbing his hands together and pacing, "We'll just have to reschedule. Let our 1993 selves take care of it when they get back."

"We can't, Al!" Sam yelled urgently, closing in, "You remember how hard it was to even arrange this meeting. Kata Enomoto is notoriously difficult to please. If we reschedule, he could cancel the whole thing."

"And what happens if he does that?" Al asked, still sketchy on the details.

"Enomoto's company specializes in a microchip that's integral to Ziggy in the future," Sam explained, stopping and staring ominously, "Without it, she won't be able to handle running a time machine. If we mess this up, Ziggy won't be completed and we could create a serious paradox."

"You would've never leaped," Al mused, screwing up his mouth, "Except, you had to leap to mess it up in the first place. The results could be catastrophic."

"So I guess we're going out tomorrow night."

Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Sam didn't think he'd get a wink of sleep tonight. He was too fraught with worry about everything that decided to pile up at once this leap. The old saying was true, when it rains, it pours.

The Project was gone. They might never be back. Which, hey, they wouldn't have to worry about if they failed to get the part tomorrow night, because then Ziggy wouldn't ever be completed. So there was that to look forward to. They might've secured an investment from Enomoto the first time around, but Sam barely remembered what happened. However, he recalled they were very close to not closing the deal and only secured it because of Al's amazing people skills. Oh, and by the way, he was Al now. As with all of their meetings where someone needed buttering up, Al was in charge of the demonstration, while Sam was there to try not to embarrass himself and look as handsome as he did on the TIME Magazine cover.

Boy, they were in a mess.

They still had no idea why they'd leaped here. It ate Sam up inside thinking about who they might be failing at this very minute. So far all they were doing was damage control for things caused by them leaping in here, which wasn't helped by the fact they were constantly bickering over every little thing. And Al was so certain he was supposed to fix the retrieval program, he wasn't considering any other possibilities. And he didn't know what it felt like to fail a leap…not like Sam did.

As he turned to try and get more comfortable, his back twinged and he groaned. Stupid office chair.

"Mmm…" Maxine stirred next to him, rolling closer, "You alright…?"

"Yeah. Go back to sleep."

"It's your back again, isn't it?" A pair of soft hands glided down his shoulders and found the trouble spot. He started at first contact.

This could lead to very bad things again, and Sam didn't want a repeat of the previous night's disaster. "Uh, actually, my back feels, AH... Ohhh…yeahhhh…" He closed his eyes and melted into it. He had to admit, it felt pretty amazing. Well, as long as he didn't give in and do the monster mash again, he was in the clear.

Maxine laughed softly, leaning in close to his ear. "You remember our wedding night? I had to get all the kinks out of your back…and you got some kinks outta me too…"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah," he lied, "I remember."

It was half true. He remembered the wedding itself, because he'd been there. In fact, he'd been at Al's previous wedding too. Both times he was the best man, but the two ceremonies couldn't be any more different. Al's fourth marriage had been a traditional church wedding—Sharon had insisted on it; she was much more conservative and motherly than any of his other wives. Sam still wasn't sure how that had happened to be honest. Maxine's wedding? She and Al had gotten hitched in Vegas last minute on a whim, Elvis officiating and all.

They'd met in a tattoo parlor if Sam recalled correctly. And Maxine, Maxine was handful. She was loud and impulsive and dreamed of being in the roller derby, if only she didn't fall on her butt all the time. She'd given up on it, and last Sam heard she was selling real estate somewhere in New Mexico. A shame, really. It didn't seem like something she'd be very happy with.

Her entire marriage to Al was crazy, but Maxine was a good person when it came down to it. She was wild but she tried to be a good wife. Flying appliances aside. But Al…Al was so hurt after losing Beth, he'd sabotage every one of his subsequent marriages. Subconsciously, he figured it would be easier to ruin things before they were ruined for him. He was drunk and unreliable, and unfaithful—that's how he'd done it to Maxine. That's why he cheated and made up in his mind that she'd done the same.

He'd made himself so alone. The only relationship he hadn't managed to sabotage by this point was with a quantum physicist who had a head even harder than his. Sam had been too driven to let him chase him away.

This leap Sam was witnessing that drive through Al, the same personality quirk that made him hard-headed and difficult to get through to. The same one that disconnected him from people.

Sam earned seven degrees, learned eleven languages, mastered several martial arts, played Carnegie Hall, won a Nobel Prize, got featured in TIME Magazine, and built a time machine. All his life, when he found something he wanted he pursued it with everything he had; it was all he thought, lived, breathed. But that came with a price. This was how _he_ pushed people away. He might not know how to connect, but he knew how to study, to learn, to throw himself into work. His world made sense; it was everyone else that was confusing.

It wasn't until leaping he really understood people. But now, he had a unique opportunity to take an outside look at himself. Maybe both he and Al needed reminders of who they were.

And maybe, Sam could help right a small wrong along with the big one.

Al wasn't even trying to sleep; he was too wired to think about it. Instead, he was wearing the same crumpled clothes from earlier in the day and seated on Sam's couch, poring over those same blueprints and notes. The clock seemed to be ticking faster, faster, faster. And he just couldn't figure out how to fix the retrieval program. What if he never got it working? What if they failed and leaped out?

Of course, why would that happen unless they'd leaped in for something else?

No, this was what he was here for. Unless…

Gooshie, was Gooshie okay? Well, bad breath aside, probably. He did get his car stolen. When was that? No, that was in 1996… Tina? Her grandmother had some health problems, didn't she? Well how were they supposed to solve that? Verbena? No, she wasn't even part of the project yet… Al went through all of the staff in his head one by one, not managing to think of much that could be leap-worthy.

And the retrieval program was still sitting here unsolved! And what about Ziggy in the future? Was she shutting down? Did Gooshie know how to fix it? Maybe if he could get a signal again they could get some more information and be able to offer their own advice. Hey, there was an idea. What if Al were able to reverse Ziggy's signal, send a message to the future from here? Oh, damn, no. Ziggy didn't have those capabilities yet…they would need that chip from Enomoto. And why was he so stuck on the retrieval program?!

Letting out a deep breath, he fell back onto the couch and closed his eyes. He didn't know how Sam handled this, it was like he was constantly racing to keep up with his own mind. And yet everything else seemed so _slow._

He opened his eyes and spotted a framed photo of Sam's family, his mother, his brother, and sister, and their kids, and Sam and Donna in the middle. It would've been a few years old now. By 1993, Thelma and Katie were living in Hawaii, along with Katie's husband and children. Sam hadn't gone to visit them. He was too busy with the Project.

Al missed having a family. Not that he'd been able to really _be_ a family with his father and sister, and he never had kids, but he did get a taste of it once. When he'd married Ruth, she'd had a huge family, and they took him in like one of their own. Losing them was one of his biggest regrets of ending that marriage. He never realized quite how much he needed it until it was gone.

He wasn't sure Sam knew just how lucky he was. And in 1993, Sam was still here. He was letting his life slip right by. And Al was seeing and remembering it all through his best friend's eyes.

Until now, Al never understood just how Sam saw the world. Sometimes he did too much thinking for his own good. No one could keep up with him because he couldn't keep up with himself; by the time his brain realized what he'd said he'd already put his foot in his mouth.

Sam was the most popular person he knew with so few friends. There were people who grew up and went to school with him, of course, but there was always that thin level of separation. He was smarter than kids his age, and then when he was in college at 16 he was surrounded by adults he couldn't relate to. Not that they didn't try. There were so many half-connections and almost friendships. But while Sam failed at personal relationships, he excelled everywhere else. He certainly had prestige. But, well, it was all sort of hollow with no one to share it with.

There was his family, who he saw when he had time. And the few people from Elk Ridge he kept in contact with. But the world outside of his small hometown was different. A lot of people thought he and his ideas were crazy.

The first person he met who didn't think that was Al. Sam would never forget that acceptance. And Al was stubborn and drunk and even he had to admit he wasn't the greatest friend at the time—he could be a bastard to the most well-meaning people. But he'd always liked Sam, even if he was terrible at showing it. And he never knew just how much that mean drunk meant to Sam back then.

He saw that mean drunk in Sam right now. It was easier to push people away than to fight to hold on.

He wanted to help Sam hold on, just a little longer. He owed him that much.

He picked up the phone and dialed.

" _Hello?"_ came the tired voice on the other end.

"Hey there, Mrs.—Mom." Al closed his eyes at the dumb mistake. "It's, uh, it me…it's Sam." Oh boy. This was awkward. He hoped he knew what he was doing,

" _Sam?"_ she answered with pleasant surprise, _"Oh, Sam, it's so good to hear from you!"_

"Listen, I know it's late, but…" Unexpectedly, his voice started to crack. Gee, he didn't realize how much this call would affect him. Was that coming from Sam, or himself? Rubbing his eyes, he continued, "But I just wanted to talk to you." He squeezed his eyes shut. This was a mistake.

" _Nonsense. You know you're welcome to call any time. Is everything okay, sweetheart?"_

"Yeah." God, he missed her, and he…he never missed his mom. He never had a mom around to care about him like Mrs. Beckett cared about Sam. Her love radiated even through the line and covered him with warmth. "I'm, uh, I'm just getting ready for an important meeting tomorrow."

" _I'm sure you'll do great."_ She laughed. _"My, you're always doing something so big. I wish I could know what you're up to, but I know you're doing something important."_

"I'd tell you if I could."

" _I know you would. But things are going well? You're keeping Albert on his toes, right?"_

Al chuckled. "Yeah, I've thrown a few surprises his way."

" _Good. That man needs someone to look out for him."_

"…he does." Al paused. Pressed two fingers to his mouth.

" _Just make sure you're taking care of yourself. We love you, Sam."_

"I love you too." He had to set the phone down for a second, take a moment. He could see now why picking up the phone was so hard for Sam. But she deserved some of his time. They all did. When he was ready, he cleared his throat and lifted the phone to his ear again. "But hey, I didn't call to talk about me. How are things going with you?"

After an hour, Mrs. Beckett hung up the phone and stared at it curiously. It was unusual for Sam to call out of the blue like that. She wondered if something had happened at work, something he couldn't tell her about because of the government. They missed him terribly. He'd become even more hidden away now that he'd started this new project.

She suspected, as they all did, it had to do with his notions of time travel. It was all he talked about as a child. But it was a silly boyhood fantasy everyone laughed at; no one actually thought he could _do_ it.

Everyone except Thelma Beckett.

She gazed out the window at night sky, dipping through the palm trees, and was reminded of something her late husband had told Sam. If he was out there somewhere, she knew he was looking up at the same stars.

 _Travel well, Sam._

Maxine's arms stretched out over the bed to find her husband gone, which was pretty typical of most mornings. He got up early for work and she slept in, which is how she liked it. She'd do a lot of things for love, but she wouldn't give up her beauty rest, that was for sure. Taking her time, she slid lackadaisically out of the sheets and slipped into the shower.

When she'd dried off, dressed, and entered the kitchen, she stopped when she noticed something very unusual. On the counter was a pair of brand new, top of the line roller skates in just her size. On top, a big, golden bow.

Mouth open in awe, she opened the card on top.

 _Always follow your dreams. I hope these can help you skate to the top. –Love, Al_

Maxine took a moment, blinking back happy tears at the unexpected gesture. She hadn't put on a pair of roller skates since her last failed audition. She'd given up. But…maybe she'd try again.

She kissed the card gratefully. And to think she'd been considering getting a _real estate_ license.

At first, Sam couldn't place why exactly he couldn't go in, he only knew that he'd been standing outside of his old house for the past half hour. It looked the same as he remembered. The adobe walls, the hanging plants outside, and a large, clay star hung up beside the door. Leading him home.

This house was nowhere. Plopped straight into the middle of the New Mexico desert, there were no neighbors, no other buildings in sight, just a small dirt road winding out. He hadn't chosen it because of his work; he could've lived in town if he'd wanted to. He just…liked the feeling of being isolated out here. The sky was clear of smog and the night visible to the naked eye, no noise polluting the air, and leaving only the sounds of crickets and the wind. And sometimes music as they played it softly from the balcony. He was separated and closer to the world, all at the same time.

It seemed if he opened the door, she'd be inside. His study would be arranged exactly as he'd left it, like he'd never made that mistake seven years ago. He wanted to go in and sleep on the bed, smell the familiar scent of the fabric softener on the sheets. Play his piano, listen to his records. Make up for lost time.

But this isn't what he'd come here for. And if he went inside this house now, he'd never leave.

Instead, he picked up a large rock in the gravel out front and a small pointed one. Using the smaller rock, he carved his initials: S.B. He put the rock back in place, letters down, and stepped back to stare wistfully at the door.

And turned away. It was enough to leave something to show he was here.


	4. Chapter 4

"Aw no, c'mon, you've got the medals out of order. C'mere." Al sighed and began to adjust the medals on Sam's dress whites— _his_ dress whites. The dress whites on Sam.

Sam pursed his lips. "I'm trying, Al."

"I know you're trying," Al conceded, "but there's a very specific way this has to go. You don't want to be disrespecting the Navy by messing up the uniform. Besides, if I wear my medals wrong and my Navy buddies hear of it, I'll never live it down. Now let's see what we've got here." He stepped back, cocked his head, and studied Sam's appearance. Hmm. He straightened his hat. "There we go. You look sharp, Sam," he admitted.

"Thanks." Sam felt out of place in this uniform. Not that he hadn't been in several military branches by now, but there was something about being in Al's dress whites in particular that made him uncomfortable. The last time he'd been in Al's uniform, he'd accidentally sent him to the gas chamber. Ugh, don't think about failing. It made him more uneasy.

Normally Al wouldn't need his dress whites for a demonstration, but he did break them out when he wanted to impress someone, and Enomoto definitely needed the extra push. Sam had put them on early so Al could give a thorough inspection, not to mention so they could practice what they were going to do. They might've had a lot of each other blended together right now, but they were still themselves, which meant they were going to have to do a little acting.

When they'd met up that morning, neither of them seemed as wound up about each other as they had the night before. They didn't say anything about it, just felt it. They'd both done a lot of thinking. And after mulling things over, and focusing their anxieties on the meeting tonight, their squabbles seemed petty in the grand scheme of things.

"Okay, Sam," Al said like a coach in the locker room, "Tell me the game plan. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I'll start with explaining Alpha's hardware, memory, speed—"

"BZZT! Boring!"

Sam's shoulders sagged and his face went slack with impatience. "Gimme a break, Al. I don't remember what you said that night."

"It's gonna be a snoozefest if you start getting technical, Sam. Frame it like this," Al spread out his hands grandly, "We've got a SUPER computer! It can do all sorts of things, and all with personality. Holograms, built in calculator, you can even program it to tell jokes. Personalize it."

"But Ziggy _doesn't_ tell jokes," Sam answered with irritation, "She's made to be more human to improve her problem-solving skills; not for entertainment."

" _I_ know that, and _you_ know that, but this is for _them_ ," Al emphasized, "You've gotta add a little flash. _Zhuzh_ it up."

"Lie."

" _Sell it_." Al circled around to face Sam as he rubbed his eyes. "Listen, this is what I did the entire time we were getting funding. People want to feel like they're contributing to something exciting."

"A computer with Ziggy's technical capabilities isn't exciting?"

"You're overthinking it, Sam," Al said while shaking his head, "I promise you that if you just give them a show, they'll be eating out of your hand."

It made sense, but Sam still didn't feel comfortable. He turned away nervously, twisting his hands. "I'm not good at shows. What if I mess this up?"

"Well have you been able to get ridda me this entire leap?" Al pointed out, "Trust me, whatever me's in you is gonna help guide you through this."

"Why can't you do it? We're both going."

"Because I'm the one who arranged it. Enomoto knows who I am, and he was already sketchy about the meeting in the first place."

This was already too much pressure. Sam felt that public speaking nervousness bubbling up in his stomach again, something he was better about but never quite got rid of. The night he'd played Carnegie Hall he'd thrown up twice and had to be practically pushed on stage. "I can't do this, Al."

"Yes you can," Al reassured him. He clapped his shoulder and grinned. "And hey? The real me's gonna be right by your side the whole time. If things get hairy, I'll bail you out."

That was true. Sam felt a little bit better knowing he had a safety net. He nodded appreciatively. "Thank you." He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. "Y'know, Al, I've been thinking about this leap and—what is it?"

Al was tense with concern, which in turn made Sam worry. "You smell that?"

"Smell what?"

"There's a fire!"

Al was halfway out the door before Sam could register what he'd said. "Fire?!"

Just as Sam darted into the hallway, he saw Al skid to a stop by the break room door. Sure enough, smoke was wafting out of it. This must be what they leaped in for! Damn, why hadn't they remembered a fire? There was no time to consider that now, because the flames could spread extremely quickly.

"Get the fire extinguisher!" Al shouted, and Sam ran to grab the nearest one. Without hesitation, Al threw himself into the room to see if anyone was hurt.

They might not have to worry about Enomoto after all. If stopping the fire was the leap objective, then they'd be whisked away as soon as it was put out. This whole ordeal would be over with and they could finally get back to being someone else rather than each other. Of course, that meant the retrieval program wouldn't be fixed either, but there was no time to think about that when lives were at stake.

Extinguisher in hand like a superhero, Sam came dashing into the break room with his hand on the trigger. After a frantic search for the flames...he was met with the sound of laughter.

"What's going on?" he gasped, eyes darting around the room, "Where's the fire?"

"I, uh…I found it," Al answered sheepishly.

Next to the microwave sat a bag of burnt popcorn.

"Our heroes," someone teased, which set everyone off again. Sam dropped the extinguisher to his side with a look of embarrassment. Al smacked his hand to his face. And they thought they were saving lives. They'd spent too much time playing superheroes and forgotten what every day life was like.

"Sorry," a staff member apologized with a shrug, "I thought I'd pressed the popcorn setting."

Then Sam snickered.

Al glared. "It's not funny," he said.

The snicker turned into a chuckle. Sam set down the fire extinguisher and leaned against a chair, now buckling with laughter. "We, ha ha, we work at a top secret government facility and…" He was laughing too hard to speak for a moment. "…and we can't figure out the popcorn button on the microwave!"

Al snorted too. The room burst into laughter again. Finally, Al cracked up. Pointing at the smoldering bag of what used to be popcorn, he exclaimed, "I was gonna risk my life for a bag of Orville Redenbacher!"

"Way to go, Dr. Beckett!" someone chimed in. The others clapped to congratulate their saviors.

Casting a glance at each other, Sam and Al took a bow.

Amidst the applause, Sam leaned in and whispered with amusement, "Al, what the hell are we here for?"

"Oh, who knows at this point? Just go with it."

"That tuxedo doesn't fit, you know," Sam pointed out discretely to Al as they ascended the steps to the Mendicino Building. It was a fairly fancy dining hall they'd used many times to impress investors. Not necessarily The Ritz, but pretty high end for this part of New Mexico. Inside, a nice dinner had been arranged and the Enomoto representatives were inside along with the man himself.

Al fiddled with his bowtie and shrugged the shoulders of his too-large suit. "It's the one _you_ ordered, Sam. If it doesn't fit me, it means it didn't fit you."

Sam bit his lip anxiously as he mentally kicked himself. "I never could get the measurements right."

"How the hell does a man live 40 years and not know how to get a decently tailored suit?" Al asked with disbelief. It boggled his mind.

Sam elbowed him as they reached the entrance. Al pursed his lips and put his hands on his hips. "Okay shut it. You ready?"

Al shrugged off his annoyance and sighed. "Big smile, Sam."

With the biggest shit-eating grins they could muster, they opened the doors.

Enomoto was ten times scarier in person than he was in their memories. The Japanese man had hair peppered with gray that stuck straight up and lengthened his serious, harshly-lined face. And for some reason, a pair of round sunglasses that he wore indoors. It made his face look like some sort of death mask. The entire time Sam was talking, he hadn't twitched a single facial muscle, and always, always, he was flocked on either side by two larger gentlemen. Were these bodyguards? It was unclear. Did he expect an attempt on his life? For crying out loud, he made microchips.

Alongside his two flunkies, Enomoto had brought six or seven employees and his much younger trophy wife. She stood out among all of the unsmiling men in black suits, dressed in flashy red sequins and sticking close to the drinks. However, her interest seemed to be piqued the most by Al, who she continued to size up throughout the night. Al, in turn, was keeping an eye on Sam, while sticking close to the _hors d'oeuvres_. Boy, these finger sandwiches were a delight.

Sam was sweating through his suit and continually drying his clammy hands. A lot of eyes were on him and he was agonizingly aware of every one. But regardless, he had to press on. Their future depended on it.

He held up the handlink prototype to show off to the men before him, the old calculator style they used to have. He wished they'd been at the gummi bear model at this point, because the original was painfully boring to look at or try to sell. "This is, um, this is our handlink. Or it will be. It'll help us connect remotely to the computer while performing other tasks. Such as, uh, complex scenario predictions or, um, database searches…"

Enomoto looked down at it. He said nothing.

Sam swallowed and looked back at Al. He smiled and did a small jazz hands. Give 'em a show.

Sam thought on it for a moment when an idea struck him. He smirked. "It's like a…remote. Only instead of a TV, it's a computer." He stroked his fingers across the handlink like he was holding precious jewels. "You can use it to access anything the computer can access, which is damn near anything. Think about it: a computer… _in your hand_."

The men beside Enomoto bent forward with interest. Sam could feel that Calavicci confidence returning, knowing he was starting to reel them in.

"And best of all," Sam continued, "Alpha does it all with personality. He isn't just a computer, he's a _character_. He displays the same quirks a human does, which separates him from the average, say, calculator." He jiggled the handlink jokingly and a few of them chuckled. Hey, this was pretty good for Sam. He was never the best at jokes when he was himself, but as Al, he felt freer. He tilted toward them conspiratorially. "And he'll be able to do so much more with backing from you and your hardware, Mr. Enomoto." He winked. The goons seemed impressed, but had Enomoto fallen for it? Sam waited with bated breath that he hid fairly well.

Enomoto had yet to change his expression. He leaned in and whispered something to one of his men. The man nodded and relayed the message to Sam. "Mr. Enomoto wants to know if it can tell jokes."

From the sidelines, Al watched this exchange proudly. Say, the kid wasn't doing too badly! What'd he say? All this worrying was over nothing. For once this leap, their mind merge was working for their benefit. And best of all, all _he_ had to do was sit back and let Sam do all the work. Heh heh, things were going off without a hitch.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and that sent chills up his spine.

Mrs. Enomoto was sidling up close to him, and he recognized bedroom eyes when he saw them. Yikes! She was looking at him like he was a tall glass of water. "You're very quiet, Dr. Beckett," she said softly.

Al gulped, mortified. "I, uh, I like to keep to myself," he chuckled politely, shrugging her arm away.

But she slinked back onto him. "I like a man with mystery," she cooed, playing with his bowtie. Al's eyes darted nervously to Enomoto. This brazen display was gonna get them killed!

"I-I'm sure your husband i-is, um, is plenty mysterious," Al said. He wished he wouldn't get so tongue-tied around anyone of the female persuasion nowadays! This was driving him nuts! Her hands slid down further and his jaw dropped. "A-and I'm sure he wouldn't like it if you got HANDSY with another man!" He yelped when she grabbed him somewhere decidedly inappropriate.

A little too loudly, it seemed, because suddenly many eyes were on him. Mrs. Enomoto slipped away with a wry smile. Holy smokes, did she get off on this?! Al looked toward Mr. Enomoto with wild panic. Sam was staring too, stunned. Al tried to look suitably apologetic.

If Enomoto was suspicious, who could tell? His expression looked like it always did, which is to say, very pissed off.

Sam tried to get his attention again. "Um, as I was saying, Mr. Enomoto, Alpha could be used for—"

"Dr. Beckett," Enomoto called, and the room was suddenly filled with chilly silence. This was the first words he'd spoken to anyone but the two men at his side. Al's eyes got bigger and bigger and he got shorter and shorter as Enomoto strode across the room to meet him. "You created this computer, yes?"

Al nodded, flustered. "Uh, y-yes, I did."

"It should be you I'm talking to. Not your clown."

Both Sam and Al frowned with offense. "Clown?" they repeated.

"Well…" Al rolled his shoulders and let it slide. He was a bit on the spot, but he could go with it. "I, uh…I can tell you about Alpha's, um—"

"I am told you speak Japanese. Tell it to me in my language." Enomoto's expression remained emotionless, but his tone was a challenge.

Al's eyes flew wildly to Sam. Sam was equally alarmed. Being as magnafoozled as they were, Al knew some Japanese, which was more than he usually knew, but he wasn't gonna be having any big conversations.

"Actually," Sam cut in, "Dr. Beckett isn't really much of a talker. If you like, I can—"

"I want to hear it from him." Enomoto spoke in Japanese. " _How does your computer work?_ "

Al understood the "computer" part at least. God, he hoped he could pull up enough Japanese for this. Whatever he said, he had to sound confident. With a deep breath, he made his attempt and prayed it worked. " _My computer is very…tasty. Alpha is prosperous and will bring, uh, many hats to your table."_ He nodded and smiled.

Sam's face was in his hands.

Enomoto whispered to his men. Then to Al, " _What will my microchip be used for?"_

That sentence was a little harder to translate. Al looked to Sam behind Enomoto, who tried desperately to pantomime what he was talking about. "Uh… _your…wife is very...big…uh—"_ Sam slid his hand across his throat frantically. "No—I mean— _your wife is—_ "

Enomoto was visibly furious now. He whispered something angrily to his men. Then to Sam and Al. "Is this a joke? Did you bring me here to mock me?"

"No no no, not at all, Mr. Enomoto!" Sam exclaimed, "Dr. Beckett is just rusty. We'd never say your wife was—I mean, she's a _knockout,_ but we'd never—I mean, she's not a…oh boy…" Sam hung his head.

"You lie to me, you insult my wife! What kind of business is this?"

"If you'd just give us another chance," Sam said pleadingly, "We can show you all of the great things our computer can do. Trust me, this will change the world."

"This was a mistake," Enomoto said, already starting for the door, "Never trust Americans. And your medals are out of place!" He pointed to Al's medals on Sam's shoulder and snorted.

Al gasped. "Really?! I swore I fixed it!"

"Please, Mr. Enomoto, you don't understand," Sam begged, "We _need_ your microchip!"

"We will _never_ work together, Admiral Calavicci, Dr. Beckett. Good night." And Enomoto left, followed shortly by his entourage. Mrs. Enomoto blew a kiss to Al as she left.

For a short bit, Sam and Al could just stand there, gobsmacked.

Al gawked at the door. "What the hell just happened?"

"I think, uh…I think we just destroyed our timeline."

Well on the bright side…there were plenty of leftovers.

Here was the sum of things: Sam and Al were stranded in 1993 in each other's bodies. They hadn't heard from their present time since the beginning of the leap, and now they might never hear from them again because they'd changed the timeline. Without Enomoto's microchip, Ziggy would not have the capabilities to run the time machine and therefore Sam would never leap (making the retrieval program a moot point). And yet here Sam and Al were, two men who no longer existed, and neither of them knew what this would mean. All in all, they had leaped in, helped no one, and destroyed their lives in one fell swoop. Probably the worst they could've done on this leap, or any.

So now, they sat in Sam's cluttered office in their suits, their jackets unbuttoned and collars loosened, Al on the desk and Sam flopped in a big stuffed chair, and contemplated their futures, or lack thereof.

"You know what I'm gonna miss about leaping?" Al asked, musing at the retrieval program notes in his hand.

"What?"

"Nothin'." He tossed the papers aside. They'd done precisely squat.

Sam sighed and sat up in the chair, leaning on his knees. He felt useless sitting there simply being depressed. "So what does this mean, Al? If we changed things so I never leaped, why are we still here?"

"I don't know, Sam." Al exhaled deeply and shrugged. "Maybe, uh…maybe Ziggy was just delayed. Maybe Enomoto still gives us the chip. Or maybe we're stuck here."

"Maybe Ziggy really did shut down." Sam stared at his hands. It seemed hopeless.

Picking up a crystal paperweight, Al weighed it in his hand in thought. He looked at Sam's office again. He remembered how many times he'd gotten on Sam's case about the clutter, but now it seemed a familiar comfort in an uncertain world. His gazed moved to Sam, morose on the recliner. He felt lousy about how things had been going lately, and it all seemed rather pointless in the end.

"I'm, uh…I'm sorry for how I've been treating you, Sam. I could lay off you every once in a while."

Sam gave a tight grin. He felt the same way. "I'm sorry too. We've both been acting like asses."

Al set down the paperweight. "You know I hate to admit it, but you were right about some things. I've been acting like a hypocrite and…I should've been nicer to Gooshie." He lifted a single shoulder. "I treated Maxine and Tina really rotten too. I could've been a better husband. Like you and Donna."

Sam furrowed his brows. "But I didn't treat Donna right."

"Sam, you're a smart guy, but you can be an idiot sometimes." Sam's head jerked up and Al smiled in that way he always did when he knew something he didn't. "You might not realize this, but I saw Donna when you were here and when you were gone. And she was crazy about you, and that includes when you weren't so perfect. And I know you were crazy about her. But you loved her so much you were willing to let her go, and…and that's something that's hard to do."

He twiddled his thumbs and pondered that. You either cut the cord or you leave them hanging.

Sam grinned and puffed out a small laugh. "Maybe." A pause. "But I agree with you. I need to stop thinking so much and start using my brain. It's easy to hurt people when you get stuck in your own world."

They paused again. Sam's chair creaked.

Al stuck out his lips pensively, then his face lit up with realization. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before? "Sam. I think that's why we leaped into each other."

As Sam followed, he sat up and grinned. "You mean to walk a mile in each other's shoes, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah." Al pointed skyward. "Maybe the Big Cheese wanted to teach us a lesson or something." He chuckled. It was a sneaky plan. And stunningly simple.

"It wasn't so bad being you," Sam admitted with a shrug, "I mean, it felt…kinda good to let loose a little."

"Yeah, and I didn't mind being a super genius for a while," Al said happily. He screwed up his mouth. "Although…I wish some of that Japanese had caught on."

"Well you'll have plenty of time to learn it. You might be me for a while."

"So is that just us from now on?" Al asked, "Am I gonna have to live the rest of my life as Sam Beckett?"

Sam squinted at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I'm gonna have a lot of alimony to pay."

Their eyes met. And then they cracked up.

"You slept with Maxine," Al chortled.

"And you refused to sleep with anyone!" Sam cackled.

"You're terrible at being me."

"You're the worst Sam Beckett."

"We can be a coupla putzes, ya know that?"

They were in tears now, buckled over with laughter and wiping their eyes dry. This whole situation was absurd.

Trying to calm down, Sam managed to ask, "What did we accomplish here, Al?"

"Not a damn thing."

 _Clunk-shoom!_

They both shot up with shock. That was the Imaging Chamber!

They rocketed to their feet and turned to see Gooshie, _their_ Gooshie, as he exited the white rectangle with a huge smile on his face.

"GOOSHIE!" they shouted with excitement. Hot damn, he was here!

"Gooshie, you son of a bitch!" Al yelled joyously, "I'm so happy you're here I could kill ya!"

"Really?" the programmer asked with surprise at Al's sudden change of attitude. Al had a big, dumb smile on his face. It was kind of scary.

"We were so worried," Sam said, "We thought you were gone for good. Gooshie, we screwed everything up!"

"No, you didn't," Gooshie said gleefully, throwing out his hands, "You fixed Ziggy!"

Now they were confused. Sam and Al furrowed their brows. This didn't add up. "How?" asked Sam, "We lost Enomoto's microchip."

"That's exactly it!" Gooshie bounced up and down excitedly. "It turns out, the reason Ziggy was shutting down was because of a faulty part—Enomoto's microchip, to be exact. But because you changed things here, we eventually went with another company that made a similar part. And now Ziggy is running like a champ!" He smiled proudly and waved the handlink in the air. "Ziggy gives it an 86.5% chance that's why you leaped in here."

Their jaws nearly hit the floor. "You mean we were _supposed_ to fail that demonstration?" gasped Al. He smacked his hand to his forehead.

"Precisely!"

Sam and Al stared at each other in disbelief.

"You two should get ready to leap," Gooshie said with excitement.

At long last. "Oh! Before we do…" Al cut in, stepping closer to Gooshie. There was a loose end he needed to tie up. He wrung his hands and looked down, embarrassed. "Gooshie, can you, uh…can you do me a favor?"

"Absolutely, Admiral," Gooshie answered, perplexed.

A beat. Al knew this was the right thing to do, but it didn't make it any easier. But it was time. "Would you…would take care of Tina for me?"

The programmer's eyes bugged out. "Tina? Sh-she and I—I mean, we're not—anymore—"

"Gooshie. I know," Al cut him off gently, raising his hand. He gave a bittersweet grin. "Just treat her right."

After a moment, Gooshie nodded. "I will," he said softly.

Sam stepped up beside Al, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. He was proud of him.

"See ya at the next leap, Gooshie," said Sam.

"See you there, Dr. Beckett," replied Gooshie warmly.

A pause. Nothing happened.

"Why aren't we leaping?" asked Al. He looked at his hands. No blue sparks.

"I don't know. What're we missing?"

The door opened and the 1993 Gooshie stepped in. 2002 Gooshie stared with fascination at his past self. "Hi, Dr. Beckett. How did the demonstration go?"

"Uh, not so great," Al answered truthfully.

"Oh. I'm sorry." Gooshie looked down disappointedly and fiddled with his hands. "I'll leave you two alone then. I'll be working on Alpha if you need me."

Halfway through the door, Sam called out, "Gooshie, wait a second!" He suddenly had an idea. He folded his arms and leaned against the desk. "About Alpha."

"What about him?"

"He needs a new name. Something that fits him better."

"Oh…" Gooshie scrunched up his face and scratched his head. "Okay…well what should we call him?"

Sam smiled. "Let's call him Ziggy."

Ding! They had a winner. Sam and Al looked at each other cheerfully, knowing for certain now this was it. At last, they were surrounded by a blue glow and swept away.

The warm, fuzzy feeling of a leap well done faded slowly as whoever was leaping them in time deposited Al in their next destination. He was feeling pretty good about their last leap, all things considered. Hell, if they could handle being each other, they could handle _anything_. In fact, he was starting to like being a leaper.

The blue sparks dwindled away, and it took Al a moment to orient himself to his new surroundings. He was crouched down, wobbling to stay upright. Gradually his balance came back and his vision cleared, and he was able to get a good look at where he'd landed.

In front of him was a woman's colorless face, glassy eyed and motionless. She was naked in a tub, the water red, and her wrists slit open.

Filled with sudden hysteria, he slipped in the blood on the floor and fell on his backside. He couldn't breathe. But he did manage one jagged whisper.

"Oh boy…"


End file.
